Spark
by Myriddin
Summary: Jon/Sansa, Rhaegar Lives AU. The new JonxSansa bandwagon is sulky teen Jon and Sansa being reluctantly married but having all the fantastic sex. Here's my contribution. ONESHOT.


**Spark  
** By Myriddin

The last thing Sansa Targaryen expected to see when she returned to the guest quarters she was residing in at Winterfell (how strange it was to be a guest in her childhood home) was the sight of her husband brooding in the corner. Not because it was unusual for him to be brooding, but because she thought he would have been courteous enough to find somewhere else to sleep.

Nearly a year had passed since her father had called her into his solar and explained as gently as he was capable that her dreams of marrying a handsome, gentle Southron knight were about to be shattered, and she was instead to be wed to her bastard cousin.

It was often said the only reason Jon bore the name Targaryen was out of the love King Rhaegar had felt for Lyanna. A legitimized bastard foisted onto his maternal family as a ward, never once had he been given the title of Prince. Even when the King raised Summerhall from ashes and rubble and Sansa had fantasized it was to be their new home, the castle instead was granted to the younger of Prince Aegon's sons.

Rather than being Princess of Summerhall, Sansa was Lady of Queenscrown. Perhaps there was a certain pride to be taken in rebuilding and restoring the ruined holdfast and village, perhaps she was growing strangely fond of her rustic new home, but she was still wife to a husband who didn't smile, didn't laugh, and cared little for the stories and songs Sansa herself so adored. He frowned, he brooded, he sulked. There was little encouragement there to make anything of their marriage beyond distant courtesy.

Beyond what happened in the bedchamber, that is.

Jon looked up at her entrance, glowering at her with gray eyes so dark with unspoken emotion they were nearly black in the light of fire lit in the brazier. "Where have you been?"

It took all of Sansa's courtesy lessons to respond levelly to his caustic tone. "Ser Donnel wished to see the glass gardens before he retired. Would you rather I have been discourteous to one of my brother's bannermen, especially a bannerman here to celebrate the birth of his liege lord's heir?"

Jon's jaw clenched so hard she was honestly concerned he might do damage to his teeth. "I know what Donnel Locke was interested in tonight. It had very little to do with Robb or little Roderick."

Sansa whirled around to fully face him, her river-blue eyes alight with fiery temper. "You dare imply-"

"I dare to tell the truth," he countered, shooting to his feet to begin crossing the room toward her. "He flirted with you all evening. Did you think think I was suddenly struck blind and deaf, that I would not notice?"

Uncertain what caused the impulse, for she knew in her heart of hearts she had nothing to fear from this husband of hers, she found herself taking a step back for every one he took forward. "For you to have noticed anything, you would have had to look in my direction, my lord. That, I'm quite certain, is something you did not do."

Jon's eyes narrowed and he took another decisive step toward her. This time, Sansa felt her back meet the cool stone of the wall behind her, and knew she could go no further. His voice was softer now, though it still had that underlying growl. "He made you smile and laugh. How am I not supposed to notice when another man accomplishes what I cannot?"

He reached up to touch her face and Sansa was too stunned to deny him. "My lord…"

"My lady." He slid his hands up into her hair, stroking his thumbs against her temples. "Wife. _Sansa_."

The sudden tenderness unnerved her, especially as Jon shuddered with a trembling breath and bent his head to press his lips to hers.

That familiar fire found its spark. She clutched at the front of his jerkin to tug him impossibly closer, crushing her mouth back to his in a deep, hungry kiss determined to drive them to the edges of what they had to give and take.

Her hips rose against him, the material of her dress catching between them with groans of frustration from them both. He slipped his knee between her legs, rucking her skirts up with it. Her own impatient fingers worked at unlacing her bodice, as he rained kisses down her neck and he slipped her smallclothes down her legs. She gasped lightly, as his hand found its way between her thighs, fingers delving into her slick heat. He crooked them, stroking his thumb against her clit, and she bit down on his neck, earning a grunt in return.

He lowered his head to pay homage to her breasts, taking a nipple into his mouth, scraping his teeth over the sensitive bud. She moaned at the mix of pain and pleasure, her hands clenching into fists in his thick hair. He raised his head, meeting blue eyes full of so much unspoken, holding her gaze as she reached out to tug open his belt and breeches.

He parted her legs, lifting her to wrap them around his hips and then he was sliding inside her. One arm went behind her head, the other bracing at the small of her back, their pace hard and fast as they crashed into the wall again and again. She clutching at his shoulders, nails raking down his back and breaking into skin, struggling to keep from screaming as the unrelenting friction took her higher and higher. He pounded into her, growling into her ear how good she felt.

He thrust deep and she shattered, tightening almost painfully around him with the severity of her climax. With her teeth in her shoulder to stifle her scream, he gave himself over to his pleasure. Emptying into her, he spiraled, and he wasn't sure if it was his redemption or his damnation he met.

He slumped against her, sinking into her warmth as her arms opened to hold him. His sweat-soaked hair plastered against his forehead, he rested his flushed face against the cool stone behind her, mind buzzing. She turned her head away, squeezing her eyes shut as if to banish the memory of what they had just experienced.

"You drive me mad," she whispered harshly into his ear, breath still short and shallow from their recent exertion. "I don't understand it, but you do."

"You're not the only one," he muttered distantly, barely conscious of his show of affection when he pressed his lips to her temple and breathed out a heavy sigh.


End file.
